“something about the imperfect education of women, and he said it was right they should be ignorant, and that no man could endure a clever wife. I laughed at him openly,” she continues, “and told him some men knew better. What did he think of the Brownings? ‘Oh, he had heard the name; he did not know anything of them. Since Scott, he read no modern writer; Scott was greater than Homer! What he liked were curious, old, erudite books about mediæval and northern things.’ I said I knew little of such literature, and preferred the writers of our own age, but indeed I was no great student at all. Thereupon he evidently wanted to astonish me; and, talking of Ireland, said, ‘Ah, yes; a most curious, mixed race. First there were the Firbolgs,—the old enchanters, who raised mists.’ . . . ‘Don’t you think, Mr Borrow,’ I asked, ‘it was the Tuatha-de-Danaan who did that? Keatinge expressly says that they conquered the Firbolgs by that means.’ (Mr B. somewhat out of countenance), ‘Oh! Aye! Keatinge is the authority; a most extraordinary writer.’ ‘Well, I should call him the Geoffrey of Monmouth of Ireland.’ (Mr B. changing the venue), ‘I delight in Norse-stories; they are far grander than the Greek. There is the story of Olaf the Saint of Norway. Can anything be grander? What a noble character!’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘what do you think of his putting all those poor Druids on the Skerry of Shrieks, and leaving them to be drowned by the tide?’ (Thereupon Mr B. looked at me askant out of his gipsy eyes, as if he thought me an example of the evils of female education!) ‘Well! Well! I forgot about the Skerry of Shrieks. Then there is the story of Beowulf the Saxon going out to sea in his burning ship to die.’ ‘Oh, Mr Borrow! that isn’t a Saxon story at all. It is in the Heimskringla! It is told of Hakon of Norway.’ Then, I asked him about the gipsies and their language, and if they were certainly Aryans? He didn’t know (or pretended not to know) what Aryans were; and altogether displayed a miraculous mixture of odd knowledge and more odd ignorance. Whether the latter were real or assumed I know not!” [446]
These were some of the neighbourly little pleasantries indulged in by Miss Cobbe, regarding a man who was a frequent guest at her house.
“His has indeed been a fantastic fate!” writes Mr Theodore Watts-Dunton. “When the shortcomings of any illustrious man save Borrow are under discussion, ‘les défauts de ses qualités’ is the criticism—wise as charitable—which they evoke. Yes, each one is allowed to have his angularities save Borrow. Each one is allowed to show his own pet unpleasant facets of character now and then—allowed to show them as inevitable foils to the pleasant ones—save Borrow. His weaknesses no one ever condones. During his lifetime his faults were for ever chafing and irritating his acquaintances, and now that he and they are dead, these faults of his seem to be chafing and irritating people of another generation. A fantastic fate, I say, for him who was so interesting to some of us!” [447a]
On occasion Borrow could be inexcusably rude, as he was to a member of the Russian Embassy who one day called at Hereford Square for a copy of Targum for the Czar, when he told him that his Imperial master could fetch it himself. Again, no one can defend him for affronting the “very distinguished scholar” with whom he happened to disagree, by thundering out, “Sir, you’re a fool!” Such lapses are deplorable; but why should we view them in a different light from those of Dr Johnson?
What would have been regarded in another distinguished man as a pleasant vein of humour was in Borrow’s case looked upon as evidence of his unveracity. A contemporary tells how, on one occasion, he went with him into “a tavern” for a pint of ale, when Borrow pointed out
“a yokel at the far end of the apartment. The foolish bumpkin was slumbering. Borrow in a stage whisper, gravely assured me that the man was a murderer, and confided to me with all the emphasis of honest conviction the scene and details of his crime. Subsequently I ascertained that the elaborate incidents and fine touches of local colour were but the coruscations of a too vivid imagination, and that the villain of the ale-house on the common was as innocent as the author of The Romany Rye.” [447b]
If Borrow had been called upon to explain this little pleasantry he would in all probability have replied in the words of Mr Petulengro, that he had told his acquaintance “things . . . which are not exactly true, simply to make a fool of you, brother.”
It is strange how those among his contemporaries who disliked him, denied Borrow the indulgence that is almost invariably accorded to genius. Those who were not for him were bitterly against him. In their eyes he was either outrageously uncivil or insultingly rude. Dr Hake, although a close friend, saw Borrow’s dominant weakness, his love of the outward evidences of fame. Dr Hake’s impartiality gives greater weight to his testimony when he tells of Borrow’s first meeting with Dr Robert Latham, the ethnologist, philologist and grammarian. Latham much wanted to meet Borrow, and promised Dr Hake to be on his best behaviour. He was accordingly invited to dinner with Borrow. Latham as usual began to show off his knowledge. He became aggressive, and finally very excited; but throughout the meal Borrow showed the utmost patience and courtesy, much to his host’s relief. When he subsequently encountered Latham in the street he always stopped “to say a kind word, seeing his forlorn condition.”
Dr Hake had settled at Coombe End, Roehampton, and now that the Borrows were in London, the two families renewed their old friendship. Borrow would walk over to Coombe End, and on arriving at the gate would call out, “Are you alone?” If there were other callers he would pass by, if not he would enter and frequently persuade Dr Hake, and perhaps his sons, to accompany him for a walk.
“There was something not easily forgotten,” writes Mr A. Egmont Hake, “in the manner in which he would unexpectedly come to our gates, singing some gypsy song, and as suddenly depart.” [448] They had many pleasant tramps together, mostly in Richmond Park, where Borrow appeared to know every tree and showed himself very learned in deer. He was